


it's alright if you leave me

by raviiel



Category: Beautiful Liar - VIXX LR (Music Video), VIXX
Genre: Angst, Beautiful Liar MV, Break Up, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Novelization, One Shot, Rewrite, Self-Acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21665545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raviiel/pseuds/raviiel
Summary: Taekwoon is suffering and Ravi is proof of that.
Relationships: Jung Taekwoon | Leo/Kim Wonshik | Ravi, Jung Taekwoon | Leo/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 12





	it's alright if you leave me

There's one feeling he knows too well: suffocation. Choking. Drowning.

Every minute of every day, he feels like he's suffocating. Choking. Drowning.

His lungs beg for deep breaths but are only allowed wheezes; hands clench around his throat and refuse to let anything more through, and he only has himself to blame. No one else can see them, the hands. _His_ hands. They've turned against him and he's accepted that.

She's upset again.

 _What is it now,_ drawls his own bored voice in his head, but fear and anger burrow into the undertones. What _is_ it now? What's he doing wrong? What does she want him to do? He isn't a mind-reader, despite what she thinks. Being together means he should know what she wants, isn't that right?

 _Not for much longer,_ he thinks morosely as she slams things around. Part of him is apathetic to her temper but too frail to smother the other, bigger part of him that's scared, _so scared._ They've been around this track more times than he can count, have run so many miles chasing each other back and forth (usually her chasing him) that he's afraid she'll stop running. She must be tired. He's sorry to her.

_No you're not._

She's hysterical. "And do you know _what?!"_ Her tone is shrill and biting. "They want us to announce our engagement there! Isn't that great—"

_Or it would be, if..._

"Or it would be if there _was_ one!"

A dark and elegant envelope trembles just so between his long, spindly fingers. His glazed eyes roam the embossed gold lettering. A sign, a herald, an omen. This is it, this must be...

"But you're not going, are you?"

She stops at the side of the bed, one of his sweaters clutched in her tight, shaking fist, and waits an answer. He can't give one. What could he say? She's right: There's no engagement to announce and there would never be one.

A million apologies pool at the tip of his tongue like saliva gathering to eject poison from his system, but no matter what he could muster, it will always lead up to this: a lack of engagement to announce to her family… and his.

It had been the coupling of dreams, a play that both families wanted to win awards for and leave a long legacy. Everyone had wanted it— _she_ had wanted it, and him? He'd said the same, that he'd wanted it just as much as they all did, but the proof is here now, steeping the room in the reality of his lies. He's paying the price for telling himself time after time that this charade was best for everyone.

She's back to yelling, back to throwing things around and spitting words she doesn't mean, words she'll regret later. The longer she goes on, the further away he sinks into a world she can't reach him in.

A fever dream slithers around his limbs and guides him through a dramatic scene change. It tucks around him like a safety blanket around a frightened child, and, helpless and unwilling to defend himself as he is, he lets it.

Static pops in the air, prickling along his skin and beckoning his eyes open like he's come home. The dilapidation and shambles are a familiar sight, something that would be hostile and unwelcoming to anyone but him. It could never be, not this reflection of his troubled mind: harsh, bleeding neons and smashed furniture, oversized paintings that hardly form coherent images. It's any and every bit of his mind lost while putting up this front to her and the world.

Then… There's Ravi.

Ravi is a mess—much like himself—but he doesn't hide it behind feeble apologies and trembling hands, no. Ravi thrashes and kicks and screams, makes sure everyone knows his rage and pain, makes sure that his anguish is brazenly on display in the twisting, unabashed ink sewn into his skin. Taekwoon admires that about him.

Ravi aches in desperation to shout at the whole world that he's hurting and doesn't want to do this anymore; he's that part of Taekwoon. He's the part that craves to hurt anyone who burns misery into him, the part that wants to chase _her_ and pin her down to tattoo the truth so deep into her skin that she'll understand how it poisoned him. Yes, he admires Ravi—but the world can never know about him.

Despite being locked away, he's always around; quiet and looming, miasma slowly radiates as rage seeps off him and pushes into every one of Taekwoon's cracks. If the cracks spread enough, he could shatter free, but Taekwoon has long since mastered the art of not falling apart.

"That's it then?" Her sharp, hoarse voice breaks through everything. "You're not even going to _pretend_ you don't want to make this right?"

Ravi's here now, lumped next to him on the bed with his legs pulled up in the same fashion, eyeing her through the mirror, nails tracing the patterns on his arms. His gaze isn't dark and frail like Taekwoon's but brightly piercing and unyielding.

 _Right,_ Ravi snorts under his breath. His voice echoes throughout the parallel neon room. _Right for_ who?

He doesn't answer either of them. She scoffs.

"Why are you being like this…" She drags a hand down her exhausted face, severe and broken all at the same time, fueling his guilt. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Ravi's head snaps up, offended. _Why are you doing this to ME?!_ He screams. Taekwoon doesn't flinch.

Desperate, she presses. "Do you hate me? Am I not good enough? Is there—Is there someone else?"

Ravi is the one who scoffs now. _If there was, do you think I would still be here now?!_

Back on her feet, she rounds the bed to stand in front of his curled form. "Taekwoon…" The softer, more sympathetic tone nearly fools him into believing this situation is negotiable, somehow salvageable—but no. He can't let himself think that, and he wishes she wouldn't. "Just… Tell me, please…"

He glances at Ravi, whose glare burns hot enough that it might turn her to dust. No such thing happens; she can't see him or feel his razor-sharp gaze.

When he gives her nothing, she begins to cry. He's on his feet the moment she crumples to the ground, snatching Ravi's glare to him. His hand reaches out to touch her as a balm, but she slaps it away before he can even get close. Ravi growls ferociously, ripping a spring from the bed to commit some doubtlessly heinous act with.

 _"DON'T TOUCH ME!"_ She screams, and he almost trips backwards, startled. "You can't _do_ this! You can't just—just _pretend_ to care when you don't!"

Rubbing his hand, he stares down at her sobbing.

But… He does care (a different kind of care, Ravi insists in his threats). Then again, caring doesn't do much care when it's bred from guilt, guilt that fills his lungs like lead mucks through his veins. What Ravi can't fill with his thorny presence, guilt does the rest of the job. Staring down at her makes it worse. Listening to her sobs make it worse. Everything… Everything makes it worse.

Ravi slaps his palms over his ears. _Make her stop..._

He can't. The only way to make her stop, to make this all go away, is to be somebody he isn't. He wants her to be happy and okay, but that's impossible with him.

After an eternity, her sobs dissolve into hiccups and sniffles while he hovers nearby as if she'd need him. It's stupid; he wants nothing more than to get away and she definitely doesn't want his comfort, but he can't seem to help himself.

On the other hand, Ravi sneers at her with nothing but disgust and loathing. Taekwoon wishes he didn't understand why.

Scrounging her dignity, she smooths her hands over her face to wipe away any remaining tears, and then her fingers card through her silky dark hair. She rises to her feet with a wobbling elegance, but he doesn't try to move to help in case she slaps him again. Snatching ballet slippers off the dresser, she rounds the bed again to her overstuffed suitcase and slams them in with half the room inside. She heaves a long sigh.

"This is it… You won't even try to…" She trails off, sounding exactly how he feels: exhausted and ready to collapse through the ground.

 _We—He—I—_ Ravi struggles with their mutual identity— _DID try. We've been doing nothing BUT TRYING. We're TIRED of TRYING._ He's so loud…

Taekwoon's blunt teeth dig into his bottom lip. "What do you want me to do…" He hardly recognizes his own voice, but then between her screaming at him and Ravi's screaming for him, he hardly ever gets his own word in.

Her eyes meet his through the mirror. Softening with the realization that this might be hard for more than just her, she opens her mouth—until she remembers that he's the reason they're both like this. The suitcase slams shut.

×

Echoes of the final nail in the coffin are punctuated by Ravi's heavy breathing and the occasional growl of frustration or pain, but the rest of the night is painfully silent. She doesn't talk to him and he can't bear to look at her, which is why they're on opposite sides of the apartment now. If he tried talking to her again, he'd only make it worse, only tell more lies. Both of them have had their fill of that.

No, until she leaves, it's best for him to stay in the guest room. Aside from a bed, an empty desk, and two large canvases void of any life, the room is barren. They'd never decided to make it into anything useful, but it'd become a kind of haven for them on its own when they couldn't stand to look at one another.

He blinks.

Vibrant lighting bathes the room and threatens his consciousness with a headache, which he'd most certainly give into if he weren't so used to this place. The bed is torn up, destroyed, debris and broken glass litter the floor, and the canvases are no longer blank. Disfigured, melting faces splatter the surface, judging anyone who judges them right back. Sometimes, if he looks hard enough, those faces look like him and Ravi—both disastrous, both ruined. That's why he doesn't look.

Ravi hauls himself onto the desk, unable to settle while scratching at the ink blotching his arms. He mutters unintelligibly to himself as papers flutter off the surface in his wake to join what's already scattered on the floor. Taekwoon dumps himself on the mutilated bed, arms flopping on his either side while his blurry sight trains on the ceiling. His eyelids are so heavy. If he falls asleep now, he never wants to wake up.

 _Why is this happening?_ Ravi asks, slapping his palms on the desk. _Why_ _won't_ _it stop?_

He closes his eyes and wishes he had those answers.

×

His eyes open to the abyss of night.

_Ah, this place…_

He isn't in the guest room—not even in the apartment. On his either side stretches a gray shore for eons, and in front of him, an ocean of black ink unfurls farther than any mind could begin to comprehend, blending into the infinite darkness. Above, the sky is deprived of stars and divested of its most important detail: the moon. How can he see?

His soul knows this desolation intimately. Waves crash against the shore, harboring a smell of the ocean so strong that it clears his head effortlessly. He thinks Ravi created this place somehow, cultivated it with frenzied hands for when brazen neon wasn't enough to bleach his mind of torment.

He pulls his sleeves over his knuckles and begins walking along the shore. Nothing is ever here besides ocean and sand, but the wash of waves is company enough. It's not cold, but he folds his arms over his chest, wedging his hands under his arms in fists; the pressure is comforting, and if he holds tight enough, maybe nothing else of his spirit will leak here more than it already has. He doesn't stop walking, letting nothing but the ocean fill his mind.

He's almost there when a sour note peals into the air. He stops, glancing around for a source, but finds nothing except darkness. Auditory hallucinations are a new experience, but not a surprise.

 _Until he hears another note, and then another. They piece jaggedly and poorly together,_ _a pathetic imitation of something masterful and sublime because it's in the wrong hands. He looks over his shoulder and discovers_ _shining light illuminating two shapes,_ _the darker one having something else on top of it._

_His chest lurches at the invasion of something that doesn't belong, and he hesitates in going closer despite wanting to._

_Before any arguments can be had with himself over it,_ _he's already there. Ravi had been the ominous shape on top of the other unlit one—a piano. Two pianos._ _One is varnished by ancient red paint and laid with unusual keys, old-looking but well-used, and the other… The other is nothing short of a disaster: splattered in a hundred different kinds of paint, several keys missing, and a pedal gone. Its_ _stool_ _leans on two stumps and he wonders what_ _happened_ _to it—but with Ravi sitting on it like the king of a_ _dismal_ _mountain,_ _scrutinizing him, a guess doesn't need to stretch far._

"Did you bring these here?" he asks. Ravi only stares at him.

After looking at the unbroken piano a moment more, he decides to sit down at it. His eyes slide across the keys and soon discern a pattern out of the mindless mess; the pretty foliage brings his attention back to Ravi, and he discovers that he's wearing a suit with the same curling, twisting design. He looks back the piano.

How long has it been since he's played? Since she moved in… He'd thought it would be a gift to her, something she loved, but she only said that with the problems she already had sleeping, his playing was no help at all. It only upset her. Heavyhearted, he had apologized and never touched the spinet in their apartment again, leaving it to collect dust in a forgotten corner. His slender finger presses a key.

The note rings out, grievously sonorous and off-pitch, but since it hadn't made him cringe, he presses another. Ravi's shoulders slump in the corner of his vision. The sound of piano breaking through the ocean ambiance is jarring, bordering on painful for its intrusion, but he doesn't stop.

Muscle memory guides his fingers to glide over the keys as improvisation becomes a fluent version of the broken melody that ushered him here. It quickly fosters a life of its own, growing into an unrestrained ballad that sounds a lot like words sick of being held back in a voice too familiar to be a coincidence.

Swaying on the busted piano next to him, Ravi has his eyes closed. His arms lazily wave around in a farce of conducting, as if he could control his own voice bellowing from the keys.

For a brief moment there, everything is okay. It's only him, only Ravi, only all the words they can't say.

×

Taekwoon opens his eyes.

He'd managed to curl up in the center of the bed, clothing pulled snugly over him in lieu of a blanket. He shivers. Phantom notes from a distant shore echo in the far back of his mind and he tries to cling to that transient sense of peace before fully waking up. The suffocation is quick to stifle any comfort.

He rubs at his eyes and unravels his limbs, licking his chapped lips to get rid of his mouth's staleness. Blearily, he glances around the room and spots Ravi sitting on the floor, knees pulled up, eyes on the blank canvases.

The bedside clock declares it's almost four A.M. in unforgiving, blaring red. He can't remember what time her flight leaves, but he wouldn't be surprised if she was already gone, any semblance of life in the apartment gone with her. He isn't sure if he cares or not.

 _But we do,_ Ravi says, eyes never leaving the empty spaces.

Taekwoon rolls over, lightheaded. The floorboards are chilled and uncomfortable under the soles of his feet, making him want to curl back into bed in the hopes of waking up on a faraway beach again. No, he can't go back right now, not if there's still a chance… to fix things.

 _But why would you want to?_ Ravi doesn't sound as tired as he looks, not too tired to start getting angry, anyway.

Taekwoon ignores him and slips from the room.

The master bedroom light is off with no noise from inside. There's no noise anywhere else either, and he truly begins to believe she's gone—until a dim light from the dining room catches his eye. His sigh is inaudible but exhausted.

He shuffles in. Their table had never been big with the thought in mind that meals were more intimate this way, but it had only ever served to smother both of them. She occupies her usual chair, curled in an imitation of him, and doesn't acknowledge his entrance.

 _She ain't gone yet._ Ravi had followed him (of course he had); Taekwoon can't read his mood, can't tell if it's ire or relief in his sleepy eyes, but their stomachs probably sink in the same way. He takes the empty chair opposite of her.

With the table so small, he could easily reach across for her if he wants— _if._ If he wants… to fix this, to make it all _"better,"_ to show her he could be _"better,"_ that this could all "work _out."_

He doesn't reach. Instead, he watches. Her face is buried in her thin arms while her legs are tucked under the long skirt of the navy dress he once bought her (she had called it her favorite once, had said he'd known her so well to pick out something so suited to her, and wore it just because she could). The suitcase sits next to the table like a tombstone loaded with memories of the person—people, relationship—it represents. Neither of them move. Minutes pass.

"...Why are you in here?" she finally asks without lifting her head.

 _I don't know. I don't know._ Ravi sounds close to frantic. He's standing at the side of the table, staring down at the suitcase like it personally threatened him with something that actually _frightened_ him.

"Did you… come to stop me?" There's no hope in her voice because it's a lie; they both know he'd never if there was an out for them. "Are you going to? Going to stop me?"

Ravi nudges the suitcase. _I want to stop you. This can work._ He sounds like he's having a change of heart, which is strange to Taekwoon, and he doesn't know if his own aligns with it.

"Is that what you want?" His voice is more hoarse and dead than he wants it to be, but he's _tired._ All three of them are _tired._

The dress undulates as she uncurls. Her face is void of contempt, of any hint of more tears or screaming. She might be the most tired, he thinks.

"Do you blame me?" she asks.

 _No, no, I could never blame you._ Ravi's palms slam on the table. Neither of them flinch—her because she simply doesn't know him, and Taekwoon because he's used to it. He opens his mouth.

A laugh tumbles out of her mouth, a sound more dead than his. "If you're going to apologize, don't. There's no point."

Taekwoon closes his mouth.

 _Asshole._ Ravi glares at him. _You shoulda done it anyway._ When was the last time Ravi had directed his wrath at _him?_

"Are you leaving soon?" Taekwoon decides to ask instead.

Ravi gasps.

She pauses, and he realizes what he'd said. This has been coming for months but neither of them addressed it so directly; he was too scared and she was too stubborn. With this, their bubbles of staunch denial are popped, resounding through the apartment so brutally that it rings in his ears. But pretending that it's anything other than what it really is helps no one. He knows it. She knows it. They both _know_ it, and there's no dancing around it anymore.

If she's as stunned by the question as him, she doesn't show it, only casting her eyes to her newly folded hands on the table. "I called a taxi. It'll be here soon."

Taekwoon's stomach swoops.

 _Call it again. Cancel it._ Ravi turns to her, begging. He turns on Taekwoon with wild eyes. _CALL IT AGAIN. CANCEL IT._ He slams fists on the table this time. Taekwoon still doesn't flinch.

"Taekwoon...?"

Taekwoon blinks at the tone, one he isn't used to these days. Usually, she sounds panicked, shrill, upset, or some unholy combination of the three, but this… This tone is light and innocent; demure but almost as if she's close to the finish line of a long race.

"Did you... Did you ever love me?"

Ravi's head snaps so hard in his direction that he's surprise it doesn't break. _Tell her,_ he hisses. _Tell her. Tell her. TELL HER._ Why is he being like this?

"I think so," Taekwoon answers. Ravi's lack of violent reaction is too telling.

Her next laugh is more of a strangled sob, and a tear slides down her pallid cheeks. She doesn't bother wiping it, but he has the urge to reach across to do it himself. "Maybe it wasn't all for nothing then," she mutters, as if it were silver lining.

 _It wasn't,_ Ravi rasps, clutching his sinewy silver hair. His eyes are becoming increasingly red-rimmed and puffy. _It wasn't!_

Taekwoon's hand slides across the table to grab hers before he can stop himself. Touching her with the intent of comforting her is bizarre when, for the last several months, they could barely stand looking at each other for more than a few seconds. He supposes exhaustion has a way of doing that, dragging drained bodies towards the finish line of compromise. He might lag behind her but as long as they both cross it, neither of them are the loser.

She rubs her thumb over his knuckles, not looking at him but smiling. He lets her have the moment because it's the _least_ he owes her, but it's not long before the sensation becomes grating instead of soothing. He reluctantly pulls his hand away, and hers retracts on beat as if she'd predicted it. She reaches for the top of her suitcase as a distraction and picks up something jingling. It's their keys.

 _No, no, no no,_ Ravi sputters, going from frantic to furious. _No no no NO NO NO—_

Taekwoon shuts him out.

The keys clink onto the table, the only sound for eternity until an engine's purring breaks through the weary inertia. The taxi.

Panic flashes through her eyes before dulling out into acceptance. He feels it too; a weight both weighing down and fading away in the pit of his chest, and he doesn't know which way he wants it to pull.

"I guess… It's time…"

Horrified, Ravi urgently looks between she and Taekwoon. When he realizes Taekwoon is going to let go, he screams. _STOP._ He slams down on the table.

Miraculously, she does. She stops and looks at the space Ravi occupies. Ravi doesn't react to her, opting to devolve into an incoherent harangue of mostly choice words about Taekwoon's decisions and exactly where he can shove them if he doesn't _do_ something. Taekwoon does nothing, clearing his throat instead.

"Would you like me to…" he begins, weakly motioning to the suitcase that continues to stand for everything that fell apart between them. She shakes her head, lips pressed into a thin and solemn smile.

He busies himself with reaching for the keys instead, but before he can touch them, Ravi smacks them off the table and bangs his hands down again. She doesn't react—like it hadn't happened—but Taekwoon stares at them on the ground, heart pounding in his chest, hands going clammy, throat constricting.

He feels her watching him and inhales a sharp little breath before catching her eye one last time. Smile still intact and worthy of a thousand eulogies, she stands. Ravi's stained hands clutch the table's edges like he'll flip it over, and his onerous, drunk gaze turns on her as she turns away, monument to failure, lies, and heartbreak in-hand.

Ravi shoves the table, lunges for her, and Taekwoon panics. He winds his arms around Ravi's chest and yanks him back as he thrashes against the hold, elbowing him in the stomach and nearly headbutting him. Taekwoon feels like he's having some sort of out-of-body experience, dissociated from the wild and bizarre reality of this, but she isn't reacting and he doesn't _understand._

 _LET ME GO!_ Ravi howls, struggling to free himself. _YOU BASTARD, LET ME GO! LET ME AFTER HER. YOU WON'T DO IT, YOU_ _ **COWARD!**_

 _Taekwoon can't_ _breathe._ _His limbs are going to fall off, he's going to pass out, Ravi will get free and—It's_ _like instead of him curbing Ravi's feral eruption, Ravi's hands twist around his neck in punishment for letting any of this happen in the first place._

 _In his lapse of fatigue, Ravi manages to break free and escapes the room. Taekwoon chases immediately, heart lurching and tears burning at his eyes, and catches up in the hallway that suddenly stretches forever. He tries snatching Ravi back again_ _but trips, only catching onto his bony ankles_ _as pain blares through him at crashing into the floor. His weight isn't enough to deter Ravi, who stomps down the hall until he can catch up to her, demanding Taekwoon let him go._

_WAIT!_

_She pauses at the end of the hall and glances back; one last look at the life that amounted to nothing but sorrow. Ravi throws a desperate arm after her, struggling against Taekwoon's weight at his feet._

_We have to let go._

_NO!_

"I'm sorry."

She rounds the corner.

"I did love you."

The door opens. The door closes.

Taekwoon stands in the hallway, alone. Somewhere else in the apartment—he thinks he knows where—Ravi wails. It's more like shrieking, but he can't mind it when his own screams threaten to rip free of his throat. They feel the same.

Somehow, they always feel the same.

It takes every ounce of his strength to not collapse where he is, but he manages and drags himself back to the kitchen. The abandoned keys still sit on a table that never moved. He pays it no mind as his aching feet carry him towards the rooms. He pointedly avoids the master bedroom, knowing nothing is there for him right now.

Similarly, nothing waits for him in the guest room either. Ravi seems to have disappeared, but his sobbing still reverberates throughout the walls and floorboards. Heedless, Taekwoon hauls himself onto the bed and curls up. His tired eyelids drop closed and he heaves for oxygen, still drowning.

The hours crawl along and see him drift in and out. The world can't make up its mind between neons and drear, ending up as deformed, sickening combination of the two. Either the bed will be disemboweled of its springs or it won't be. Either the canvas will be pristine or agony will defile it. Which reality is the right one? Not that it matters, because he longs for a beach that forbade him from its shores.

More than anything, the sudden urge to apologize to Ravi wells up. He doesn't know why, but it feels important.

×

As if rewarding this revelation, the ocean returns to him. It's colder, darker, and the sea salt odor is unpleasantly overwhelming.

Ravi is settled at the dusty red piano, sobs silenced, while his clumsy hands try to play his vocal cords. Only bits and pieces of the melody flounder through, scary and screeching under his destitute attempts.

When he spots Taekwoon, he stops. They stare at each other for a long moment, emotion clashing against utter deadness. The ocean essence seems toxic now, brine and salt lining his lungs thick enough to strangle.

Ravi gets up from the piano stool and motions for Taekwoon to sit. Taekwoon sits. Ravi motions for Taekwoon to play. Taekwoon begins to play.

The piano is far more out of tune now than before, but he carries on because it's all he can do for them now. Ravi paces around, stuck between looking like he wants to attack the piano or attack Taekwoon. The aggressive restlessness gets Taekwoon yanked on every now and then, but he doesn't let it disturb the playing; Ravi is trying to find solace in the lay of notes that continues to flourish in power. The lamps lighting his way brighten.

Hands grip his shoulders when Ravi comes behind him, hot and heavy. They slide up to the base of his neck and Taekwoon vaguely registers how recognizable the feeling is, and though his playing takes on a frantic edge, he doesn't stop.

Ravi's fingers, gaunt and tainted, swathe around his neck but don't squeeze just yet. Taekwoon doesn't muster protests, redirecting trepidation into his toes unearthing the damp sand when the pedals aren't in use.

The melody reaches a fever pitch and Ravi _squeezes—_ but it isn't terrifying or new. This is a feeling he knows, one he's intimately familiar with: suffocation. Choking. Drowning.

Now Ravi has fit himself on the bench meant for one, their faces close together. Taekwoon doesn't stop playing, Ravi doesn't stop squeezing. He's angry.

_I know._

He wants to kill him.

_I know._

He wants him to suffer.

_**I know.** _

_Just like me._

_Just like you._

_I don't want it anymore._

_You don't have to have it anymore._

_You're too much of a coward to take it all on._

_I'm not._

_**Liar.** _

But Ravi laughs. The cadence cuts off.

_It's yours now._

The bench is missing one body. His neck is missing two hands. Panic flinches through Taekwoon as he reaches up to catch them—but no. Ravi has taken his hands back. They're gone.

_You said you would take it._

_But I—_

Looking over his shoulder, he sees how Ravi's eyes are more bloodshot than ever, too puffy to even be open. Hair untamed and postured slumped, he stumbles away. Stumbles towards the finish line. Taekwoon watches, so engrossed that he doesn't notice the hot tears spilling over his cold cheeks

_Aren't you tired of being a liar? Coward._

Ravi is crossing the finish line. Leaving him. Why is Ravi leaving him? Darkness blurs the edges of his figure, enveloping him, and no longer alone, he finally turns back like he's at the end of a stretching hallway for one last look at the life that amounted to leaving behind burdens in exchange for salvation. Taekwoon can't move and can't look away. Terror flickers in his chest, but it's slowly chipped away by something else. Something lighter.

_You have to let go._

The other feeling is fading away. Fading away. So is Ravi—

As he turns away to be embraced by the ocean, Taekwoon—swears some sort of smile ticks at the corner of his lips. A smile from someone relieved to be crossing the finish line.

Ravi is gone.

×

Daylight filters through the curtains when Taekwoon next opens his eyes. They're swollen, like he'd spent the entire night crying instead of dead to the world, and he thinks, maybe… _Ravi..._

Gingerly, he rolls over and sits up, pulling his legs off the bed; the floorboards are still cool, but don't sting anymore. He gazes around the room, the same kind of empty it's always been, and listens for any sounds. Nothing. She's still gone.

His eyes close again, and he listens more closely. He isn't sure where it's coming from, but it's definitely there—somewhere else in the apartment, he can hear the melody playing. It's in tune.

He takes a deep breath.

**Author's Note:**

> if you recognize this, it's because i posted it on AFF once upon a time. i regrettably do not write for VIXX anymore but when i reread the fic there, i decided it deserved a rewrite with my more developed writing skills, and if you read it before, i hope it was better to you now
> 
> if you're new to this! it's (obviously) based off VIXX LR's Beautiful Liar music video, and if you haven't seen it before, i have no idea how tf that's possible and you need to go look it up on youtube right now!!!
> 
> i still love wontaek with all my heart, and i mostly got back around to this because Leo just enlisted and when Ravi showed up to his final fanmeet... dang. that was a Lot.
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading! you can find me on twitter @ [ahegaoravi](https://twitter.com/ahegaoravi)


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